Orianna
by chrihstie
Summary: Corin Reveck didn't create a robot that was named after his dead daughter. He created a monster out of his dead daughter. Even if he didn't know it. And she, has to 'live' with it. [Drabble. AU, character exploration. Two/Three-shot?]
LEAGUE OF LEGENDS
 **ORIANNA  
** PROLOGUE

A/N: First league fanfic! Don't know how much inspiration I'll have to continue this but I thought it'd be nice to explore Orianna's lore more. In this AU, however, the daughter's soul was actually transferred into the robot/killing machine that is the champion. So if I do write next chapter, it'll be about how she adapts to basically becoming said killing machine

Also, my league name is the same as my author name so if you ever see me in game, go ahead and tell me "hey your story sucks as much as your league skills" LOL

* * *

 **SYNOPSIS**

Corin Reveck didn't create a robot that was named after and _resembled_ his dead daughter.

He created a **monster** _out_ of his dead daughter. Even if he didn't know it.

And _she_ , has to 'live' with it.

* * *

She was once named Orianna Reveck.

A girl loved and treasured to a single father, whom she loved and treasured in return. They were once a comfortable two member family that lived in a quaint little home near the outskirts of Piltover.

Orianna was once dedicated to dancing- ballet, if one were to ask. But she had became invested in more, _so_ much more with a lithe body and graceful footwork that allowed her to navigate easily through combat. She was once interested in the League, so she trained, and oh she trained _so much_ for it. Though her hopes and dreams eventually plunged into a pit of unrecoverable loss.

-Because at seventeen years of age during that time, nearing eighteen- _everything_ went up into flames. Literally.

So yes, she was _once_ Orianna Reveck.

* * *

She was once made of substance, and then she wasn't. She was once human, and then she wasn't. She was one breathing, living a happy and content life with her father, and then everything crashes, everything burns- there was nothing- and then she died.

And that was it.

That was _supposed_ to be it.

-But it wasn't.

Everyone figures that _would_ be it. They expect the light, and then they expect the darkness. They expect the burning pits of hell or the welcoming gates of heaven- or whatever their religion compels them to believe in.

However, being rather a nonbeliever, she had expected nothing. And surely, she had not expected _this_.

This... ' _roaming around without a body_ '. Now a soulless wanderer (something she thought was only to be subjected to a horror movie antagonist-) traipsing around what was _formerly_ her home without any actual objective. But perhaps to suffer.

Hours, _days_ , _**weeks**_ , watching **hopelessly** as her father _decay_ from inescapable misery and unfortunate loss. Having to bury his own and _**only**_ child turned his once dark hair ashy white, contrasting with eye bags, dark and heavy. Cheeks sunken and visage weary.

And she _couldn't-_ She couldn't do _anything-_ SHE **COULDN'T**.

Though the pain was present, the pain had eventually grown numb. ...If she were truly capable of feeling at all- And she suspected it became the same for him. Slowly, and inevitably.

Corin still whispered to 'her' often when he wasn't drunk in tears or collapsed over a wreckage of what was once their living room. Soft, inaudible apologies, fervent, like a prayer. "Sorry, I'm so sorry- _I'm so sorry_. Forgive me, my daughter. _Forgive me_ \- I failed, I failed, as a _father-_ I- I **FAILED** -" Altogether strung with words of regret that she _loathed_ to hear.

And then there were rare times when he joked with 'her' and breathily laughed until he stopped- that temporarily pause that utterly _broke_ him- It crashed. And he became lifeless yet again.

But he used to be so full of life. He did not have to **die** along _with_ her.

There was a pretty little portrait of his happy blue eyed, blonde little girl framed within four thin wooden walls, and he would often be found kneeling in front of it (a human heep of sorrow). Or hugging it tightly to restless sleep as tears slip down the glass pane.

Sure, she knew she was _loved_ , but Orianna never imagined the **extent** to that parental affection. And how much the unwilling parting would _**destroy**_ the man she cared for most.

She knew then, more than she _ever_ knew before, that she would do **ANYTHING** for her father. _Anything-_ If she could.

For Corin Reveck was once a kind and doting father. A hardworking single father. He didn't deserve this _sorrow_ , this **loss** and _**agony**_. But despite how much it _broke_ him, how much it **breaks** her- again, and again, _and_ _again_ \- even if the pieces could not be any, ANY smaller- she could not hold him. Her embrace passed on as air and her touch went unnoticed. Her voice unheard. Her presence unknown.

She was _here_ , with him. She was his _daughter_.

And now she was a wandering spirit.

But months had gone by and there was more color in his pallid features. Time spent despairing over her death was instead poured into countless books and the metal parts that laid in a messy arrangement (if one could call it such) upon a worn wooden desk. Every night, a sole golden light from an old lamp would dimly illuminate the many scrolls and blueprints. Something he was scribbling away as he read, and read, and read. The only constant sound was the flipping of pages from books she didn't quite understand why he was reading. They started to stack high like the mountains (and plates from finished meals gone unwashed) and Corin's nose remained stubbornly buried within them.

But at least he was doing something else.

He then started to tweak. Gathering items from junk or merchants or objects he had taken apart. The pile only grew, but so did his construction. Drilling, cranking, colliding. Occasionally, there would be a zap, or two. And the dimly illuminated room flashed in a bright white-blue.

-It was a robot, she figured. Cold and metal to the touch, she figured.

 _Why_ , she didn't know. But she was glad there was this fire, this ignited spark in those grey eyes as he worked, and this twinkle whenever he thought up the next piece of the puzzle. And everything seemed okay again.

But then one day, the project came to a stop. The noises ceased, and plans tucked away.

It was finished: a project that brightened his features and gave him this glimmer of hope. Hope for what, she did not know.

And then on that very night, _it_ -

No, **she** , came to life.

* * *

 _Favorites, follows, reviews are much appreciated!  
Thank you for reading c:_


End file.
